Father Of Mine
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "It still caught her off guard sometimes. No, that was a lie. It still caught her off guard all the time." Oneshot set in the future: Spencer and Toby in their early twenties.


A/N: Once again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my last story. It's so funny because to me, my writing always seems just a tiny bit flawed – and then you guys blow me away with all these amazing reviews. Do any of you other writers experience this? In any case, I had a lot of fun writing this thing. Hopefully you'll have half a decent time reading it.

**Father Of Mine  
**  
It still caught her off guard sometimes. No, that was a lie. It still caught her off guard all the time.

She'd be going about her daily business – pouring coffee, returning emails, attempting to put an outfit together – when her hand would hit the right angle in combination with the sunlight peeking through the window, and the sparkling on her finger would catch her eye. She swore her heart skipped a beat every time.

She was wearing an engagement ring. Toby's engagement ring. The one he'd presented her with the morning after her graduation ceremony from Columbia.

"Toby," she'd breathed, "You can't afford this."

"Actually," he said gently, "I can."

She looked at him quizzically. He wasn't poor by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't like he was swimming in gold either. The quality of the ring spoke volumes, and she couldn't help but worry how it would set him back financially.

He smiled at her. "I've been setting aside some cash every month ever since you graduated high school. C'mon, Spence, you're killing me here," he pleaded softly, and she realized she had yet to accept.

"Yes!" She laughed, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. "Oh my god, yes!"

He placed the ring on her finger with shaky hands, and they kissed and embraced. Laughed and cried.

"You've wanted to propose to me since high school?" she asked a little while later, her voice filled with wonder. It seemed ironic that her brain was able to grasp every iota of algebra and biochemistry she threw at it, but somehow it had yet to completely embrace this.

"Pretty much."

She looked at him closely, and could feel the corners of her mouth lift upwards when his eyes met hers. "I would have said yes then too, you know."

"I know." He reached out and softly brushed his fingers along her jaw. "Which is why I waited."

His meaning settled into her, and warmed her from the inside out. To someone else it might have sounded like his words came from a place of uncertainty. That they were still so young and too much could still go wrong while she was in college and going through what would later undoubtedly be considered life-altering years.

She knew better, though. He had been ready then to get married, to play house, to take care of her and love her like a husband should. But he accepted she was still in a different phase in her life. She was getting ready to leave home for the first time, go to school, make new friends and start a whole new adventure. And he wanted her to be able to experience that to the fullest. He'd wanted to her to be a kid a while longer, even if he willing to be adult enough for the both of them.

"It's beautiful," she said in awe, admiring the ring on her finger.

It was precisely her style, too – simple, classy, elegant. He always did have a knack for picking out jewelry for her. He knew what she liked, and hunted down store after store until he found it, never settling for anything less than perfect. It was something all her girl friends always envied, complaining that their boyfriends could use a few pointers from Toby.

He brushed his nose against her cheek before kissing it. "You're beautiful," he murmured.

That was almost a month ago. In the meantime, they'd managed to pack up her dorm room, moving some stuff into his tiny New York apartment and the rest into the Hastings' barn, where they would be spending the next few weeks. Toby had some time off work, and Spencer wasn't due to start her internship in NYC for another twenty days.

Telling her parents about their engagement had been a little nerve-wracking, but they'd bit the bullet and it had gone all right, considering. She knew Toby would never fit the profile of the man they'd always envisioned their daughter marrying, but somewhere along the line they had come to accept that he was the one she chose, and continued to choose, every day, over and over.

"You know, I always thought you'd eventually outgrow him," her mother had spoken rather candidly while her father and Toby were outside inspecting a leak in the hot tub. "But you didn't. And now I'm glad you didn't."

"I never had the chance to," she'd replied softly, wondering why she didn't feel more offended at her mother's blatantly honest admission. "He grew with me."

Telling Toby's family was an entirely different can of worms, and not something either of them was very keen on rushing into. The little contact he'd had with them since moving to New York four years ago had been strained and difficult, almost all of it through email with few phone calls and even fewer visits.

However, as days turned into weeks, Spencer was starting to feel the anxiety-monster creep up on her.

"We can't put it off anymore," she'd told him yesterday, "The longer we wait, the worse it's going to get."

He hesitated, and she reached out to place a soothing hand on his arm. "Just call him, ask if we can come over for coffee tomorrow or something. We'll take it from there."

His shoulders had slumped in acceptance, and reluctantly he reached for his phone. He disappeared into the bedroom to call his father, and she watched him sympathetically as he shut the door behind him, hating how his relationship with the man was still so fragile.

He'd been jumpy all morning as they got ready. In fact, it was so unlike him that she couldn't help asking delicately, "Are you all right?"

He sighed with something resembling impatience. "Actually, Spence… would you mind if I went alone?"

This took her aback, and he must have caught a flash of hurt in her face because he immediately stepped forward and rubbed her arms supportively.

"It's not you, it's… it's them," he hurried to explain, his eyes clouding over with emotions she realized he'd probably never properly dealt with, "They might not react… the way you'd expect them to."

"Toby," she said gently, "I'm not expecting anything. I just think they need to know."

"And I'll tell them," he assured her, "I just think it's better if we don't gang up on them until they've had a chance to… let it sink in."

She recognized his attempt to protect her. It wasn't their opinion he cared about as much as how it would affect her if they… She wasn't sure. If they reacted the way he seemed afraid they would react.

"Do you really think they won't be happy for us?" she asked incredulously.

"I hope they will." He ran his hand over his freshly shaved jaw. "I really hope they will. Look, I'll invite them to dinner while I'm there, at the Grille sometime next week, the four of us, okay?"

She nodded reluctantly. "Okay. Not Friday, though. I have plans with the girls on Friday."

He nodded, and with a soft kiss against her forehead he was out the door.

She planned on making the most of her unexpected free morning, and decided to start by getting the final paperwork for her internship in order. It took longer than expected, but she felt an undeniable relief once it was over with. One less thing to worry about.

She was about to head out to load up on groceries when she heard the front door open.

"Hey," she said, poking her head out of the bedroom to see him dumping his wallet and keys on the coffee table. "That was quick."

He came closer, and she caught something in his face that told her something was terribly wrong.

"Toby? How'd it go?"

She joined him at the kitchen counter, but he just shrugged and shook his head.

"What happened?" she prodded, almost unable to believe it hadn't gone acceptably at the very least. Part of her had thought he'd been overreacting when he'd told her he would rather go alone. That it had been his own insecurities that had caused this desire rather than what was most likely to occur in reality. She hadn't even seriously let herself consider that his family might be so screwed up that they couldn't or wouldn't recognize a good thing when they heard it.

"Well…" he took a deep breath, "My dad spent fifteen minutes trying to talk me out of it. I had enough, so I left."

Words failed her. She wasn't even sure she would have been able to utter them if she could think of any. All she could do was stare at him in disbelief.

He saw her face, and made a conscious effort to explain. "He said… well… he basically told me I'll never be good enough for you. Because you're way too smart, and way too beautiful, and one day you'll realize that and find someone else."

Her eyes flashed, and she could feel her fingernails digging into her palms as her fists clenched in rage. It took her a moment to speak, and when she did she was surprised at how eerily controlled her voice sounded considering the tsunami that was going on inside her head.

"I really hope you're joking."

Toby shot her a weary look, everything about him dead serious.

"We've been together for almost six years. Does that not mean anything to him?" she went on, and it dawned on her that the only reason she was able to formulate intelligible sentences was because a small part of her still believed he'd misinterpreted the whole thing.

He shrugged in answer to her question, then finished his own thought process. "The funny thing is… I don't think he was even trying to be mean. You know how intimidated he's always been by your family's success…" He shook his head. "I got the feeling he legitimately thinks he's trying to stop me from getting hurt."

"Oh well that's mighty big of him," she spat, her temper finally flaring up. "I feel like I should be insulted but all I feel is an inane desire to kill someone."

His eyes landed on her and he sighed, his gaze softening. He recognized that, especially with her, there was a very fine line between anger and pain, and she was flirting dangerously with it. He tugged her closer. "It's okay, Spencer."

"No," she said icily, pushing his hands away only to realize her own were shaking, "If you think it's okay then this whole situation is even more messed up than I thought."

He ignored her. "C'mere."

He drew her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her and pressing lazy kisses into her hair. She was tense at first, but gradually relaxed into him as his body worked its magic.

How was it that he was comforting her? He'd just shared the best news of his life with his only remaining parent, had the door slammed in his face – figuratively speaking – and still found the strength to come home and hold her like this.

It wasn't right. She should be doing this for him instead of the other way around. She should be calming his incredulous anger, nursing his wounds.

His passive acceptance of his father's atrocious behavior was perhaps the most tragic aspect of all.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips instinctively connecting with the bare skin on his throat in a delicate kiss.

"I love you," she murmured quietly, "So much it scares me sometimes."

He squeezed her soothingly, swaying her slowly back and forth. His face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. "I know. It's okay, baby."

It wasn't okay. She stood by that. It would never be okay. But she told herself she would just have to accept it. For her own sanity if not for anything else. She knew if she kept thinking about this it would drive her crazy. It would rile her up every time, to the point where it kept her up at night.

She inhaled deeply, breathing him in, and attempted to let it go. He must have felt the change in her body language because he rubbed her back a few times, like he approved, before carefully pulling back and trapping her lips in a tender kiss.

They didn't talk about it again. Not the next day, or the next week. He didn't mention anything about the dinner at the Grille, so she assumed that either he hadn't gotten around to the invitation in the first place, or went and cancelled it after witnessing her reaction to his father's so called act of kindness.

Either way, she was relieved. She had absolutely no desire to be in the same room with the man, much less attempt to make polite small talk. The very thought was enough to make her gag.

Not quite ten days after the disastrous incident, they were driving home from an errand when she suddenly felt that familiar, unquenchable desire for a pick-me-up.

"Want to stop by the Brew for coffee?" she asked hopefully.

He shot her a look that conveyed both exasperation and amusement.

"What?" She attempted to put on her most innocent face. "It's been three hours."

"Fine," he half-groaned, making a turn. They were entering Emily's street now, and she was just about to suggest they ask her along when her blood ran cold.

Emily's porch was empty, but the house on the other side of the street looked like the inhabitants had been barbequing in the front yard.

"Stop the car," she said quietly.

"What?" He swore he hadn't heard her right.

"Stop the car."

He hit the breaks. It seemed like the worst idea in the world, but when she spoke in that tone of voice he knew better than to cross her.

She got out and slammed the door of the truck shut behind her. Toby's father and stepmother were sitting in what seemed to be rundown outdoor furniture on the front lawn, beers in hand and looking lifeless and miserable as always.

Even their surprise at seeing her – and Toby behind her, who had also exited the truck by now – didn't evoke much of a reaction from them.

"What is wrong with you?"

Spencer had spoken before even giving conscious thought to what she was going to say. She looked straight at his father, contempt burning from her eyes.

"Your only son comes to tell you he's getting married, and you offer your congratulations by telling him not to bother? That he'll never be able to keep me anyway?"

She shook her head in disgust before flinging another painful question into her rant. "Do you really think that little of him?"

His father didn't say a word. His stepmother opened her mouth to speak, but Spencer cut her off, hard eyes still trained on his dad.

"Let me tell you something. He is kind, and gentle, and loyal, and honest." She swallowed, telling herself not to let her emotions get the best of her. "He's the best thing in my life, and bringing him into the world is the best thing you will ever do in yours. And _fuck you_ if you can't see that."

She turned on her heel, finding Toby standing a few feet behind her looking dumbstruck. "Let's go," she said with authority.

He didn't need to be told twice. They were both opening their respective doors when suddenly she turned back to look at the elder couple in the chairs.

"Oh and another thing? He also happens to be fantastic in bed."

She didn't wait for their reaction, just got in the truck and pulled the door shut. "Go," she said flatly, "Drive."

He drove. He drove all the way home, knowing that a romantic coffee date was no longer in the cards for them at the moment. They didn't speak a word. She simply looked out the window, her elbow on the windowsill, her body language tense and closed off. It was only when he put the truck in park that she relaxed some, slumping against her seat.

He turned to her, and scooted a little closer after a moment. When she didn't tense up again or lash out, reached out and wrapped one arm around her, so delicately, like she was a china doll or something. She didn't pull away, but didn't exactly welcome it either.

"Spencer…"

He said her name in that way he had, beckoning her with barely more than a whisper. It always made her wonder – is it possible to go the first sixteen years of your life without knowing your own name?

His free hand tilted her face towards his and he started brushing feather light kisses on her cheeks, eyelids, forehead, nose, chin, mouth. He didn't say the words, but she could feel gratitude seeping out of each connection of his lips with her skin.

A single tear slid down her face.

"No," he whispered against her, kissing the wetness on her cheek. "Don't cry…"

"He's not coming to the wedding," she declared brashly through more tears, "I'm uninviting him."

Toby didn't answer, just pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. The tears continued, slowly making their path down her face. He kissed them all away.

At last, she let out a shaky breath and leaned her head on his shoulder. He wrapped both arms around her tiny frame, and for a while they sat there like this, in utter silence.

Finally, he broke the quiet by saying the last thing she was expecting.

"You told my father I was good in bed."

She laughed in spite of herself. There really was no telling what came out of her mouth when someone pushed her buttons. In this case she couldn't even bring herself to feel embarrassed. "I believe I used the word fantastic."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Come on," he said, nodding in the direction of the barn, "I'll make you that coffee."

She slipped her hand in his as they walked up to the house.

A few evenings later, they were getting ready for bed. He was already settled against the pillows with his latest choice of nighttime reading, while she was still washing off the last of her make up.

She stole a glance at him through the open door that connected the bathroom to the bedroom. He was sitting up, his chest bare, the comforter covering his lower half and giving the impression that he might as well be naked under there. Her heart involuntarily started beating faster, even though she knew he was wearing boxers.

She came a little nearer, standing in the doorway, still observing him closely. Never for the life of her would she be able to comprehend how the man before her had come forth of the man she had confronted a few days ago. She had looked for glimpses of Toby in the elder Cavanaugh too many times to count – something soft, something loving, something generous. But all she ever saw was a cold exterior that she doubted anyone in the world would ever be able to break through.

She sighed, realizing what haunted her the most. It was that there wasn't a doubt in her mind that deep down, Daniel Cavanaugh really did love his son. Just because he didn't know how to show it didn't mean he didn't feel it. And for the first time, she felt something other than resentment and incomprehension for the man. For the first time, she felt a small pang of pity.

"Hey…" She switched off the light in the bathroom and crawled in next to him. "I realized… it's not fair of me to say I didn't want your dad at the wedding. Not that I'd blame you if you didn't, but it's your dad. It should be your call."

He lowered his book. "Yeah… I'm glad you brought it up because I've been meaning to talk to you." He sat up straighter. "He called me today. While you were out with Hanna."

"He did?" She failed to mask her surprise.

He nodded. "He… apologized. He said he hopes I'm happy."

She stared at him for a moment, still unable to process this latest twist. "Well, what did you say?"

He gave her a funny smile, like the answer was obvious. "I told him I was."

Something warm spread out in her chest, and she instinctively reached out to entwine her fingers with his. He brought their conjoined hands to his lips and kissed a few of her knuckles.

"He's never apologized to me for anything my whole life," he murmured, a note of disbelief present in his voice. He lowered their hands and met her gaze evenly. "It never would have happened if it weren't for you."

She snorted, unable to bite back her sarcasm. "So it took me yelling at him on his own property for him to own up?" A thought struck her. "Maybe I should do it again. How many apologies does this man owe you, exactly?"

"Oh no." He shook his head, a look of amusement in his eyes. "Hold it, tiger. We got away with it. Once. Let's not rock the boat."

She sighed dramatically, falling against the pillows. "Yeah, you're right. He probably already thinks I'm a basket case."

"Not true. You've always really impressed him. That's why… I think that's why he had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that you'd want me in the first place."

The injustice of it all came back to her tenfold, but he quickly cut off her angry retort.

"If anything… I think he respects you even more now. Because you stood up for me." His voice went softer. "And he never did."

She sighed. The anger she had felt so profoundly just a moment before had made room for a very intense, very painful kind of sympathy. For years on end, this beautiful man in front of her had had no one in his corner. No one in the world who believed in him.

This seemed cruel enough for an average kid, but for someone as remarkable as Toby, it was downright monstrous.

So, she decided, she would just have to spend the rest of her life making it up to him. It didn't even matter that she was righting someone else's wrongs. He deserved all the love and support in the world. Because that was what he gave. Unconditionally.

"That's good," she murmured neutrally, "God knows I still have some… _issues_ with him but I wouldn't want him to hate me or anything. Especially since we're going to be sharing a last name soon and all…"

She grinned at him and he smiled back, a confused glint to his eyes.

"Really? You're going to take my last name?"

"Well, that's usually what happens when two people get married," she stated matter-of-factly, "The woman takes on the man's name, and any future offspring are also given the man's name. Therefor, the whole family unit is blessed with the same last name, the one originally belonging to the man."

He ignored her elaborate life lesson with an amused eye-roll. "No I just thought… You've always been such a feminist. I guess I figured you'd want to keep your own name."

She considered his words seriously for a minute, realizing he was right. Keeping her own last name when getting married was exactly the kind of thing she would feel strongly about.

Then why was the idea of being Spencer Cavanaugh so appealing to her?

"I guess…" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I guess I'm just really looking forward to not being a Hastings anymore."

She felt as surprised as he looked at what came out of her mouth.

Her father's voice rang in her ears. _Hastings' don't cry. Hastings' don't fail. Hastings' don't ask for help.  
_

"Hastings' don't have fun," she'd retorted once, at only six years old.

She turned back to Toby, feeling her heart melt at the way he was looking at her. There was understanding and acceptance in his gaze, and she couldn't help but think that one look represented everything he was to her.

"I am so hopelessly in love with you, Spencer Jill Cavanaugh."

She blinked away the moisture threatening to fill her eyes, feeling like an idiot for tearing up so easily.

"Prove it," she countered lightly, making sure the look she gave him was not up for interpretation. "Ravish me."

She'd barely finished talking before he pulled on her legs, causing her to end up on her back on the mattress. She laughed as he leaned over her, pressing hot kisses against her neck and collarbone. His fingers went to gently tickle her sides underneath her shirt, as if he wanted to hear that laugh again.

She sighed happily as his lips descended on hers. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, _I love you_ being on the top of the list. But as her mind was wiped clean of all coherent thought, it dawned on her that she really hadn't been a true Hastings in a long time.

For only a Cavanaugh could live in the moment like this.


End file.
